Wrong Place, Right Time(96)

“Trust me,” he says, “this’ll be the best fried catfish you’ve ever eaten.” He leads me up to the front door. The odor of grease gets more pungent.

“What if I don’t like catfish?” I ask, looking at him sideways.

He grabs the door and pulls it open, looking down at me with a very serious expression. “If you don’t like catfish, I’m afraid we can’t be friends anymore.”

I poke him in the belly as I walk by. “Good thing I like catfish.”

Okay, so I’m flirting, even though he called us friends. Sue me. He’s too damn cute with that dimple of his. I’m pretty sure he knows it’s killing me every time he uses it.

Several people greet Dev by name as we walk into the restaurant. A rotund lady easily in her sixties leads us to a booth in the back corner.

“The usual?” she asks.

“Of course. Bring me a double order so I can share it with this lovely lady here.”

The woman looks at me and winks. “I was wondering when you were going to bring somebody special by.”

Does that mean I’m the first? My face goes warm with the compliment.

“This here is Jenny. She’s my friend from work.” Dev’s voice has taken on a distinct Cajun flair. I like it. A lot.

The lady nods. “Jenny, it’s very nice to make your acquaintance. I’m Melba, and you are welcome here anytime, even if you don’t bring this tall drink of water with you.” She gestures at my date who’s not really a date.

“I hear you have the best catfish in town.” I smile at her, caught up in the mood of the place.

“You heard right. But I’ll let you judge for yourself.” She looks at Dev. “Sweet tea?”

He winks at her. “Bring us two.”

I’m not going to complain about all the calories in that tea that’s probably just as sweet as an actual Coke. Tonight, I’m going to splurge. I’m going to eat catfish and drink sweet tea until my stomach begs for mercy.

We’re alone at the table now, the sounds of satisfied diners surrounding us with a happy buzz. The smell of greasy, fried food hangs in the air, probably coating my hair and clothing, but I don’t care. This is already one of the best non-dates I’ve ever been on.

“So, did you enjoy working with Lucky?”

I nod. “Yep. We had a little bit of a scare with those people breaking in when we were working, but besides that, it was fun.” I realize as I’m telling him this that I actually did enjoy myself. I have a sneaking suspicion that this job is going to be a lot like pregnancy; at the time, it seems really awful and hard and scary, but looking back all you can remember are the good parts. The fear kind of fades out to a mere wisp of a memory, the details fuzzy and hard to recall.

“Lucky tells me you did just fine. And you don’t need to worry about that kind of stuff in the future. Going on-site is very rare for Lucky, and it’ll be the same for you.”

“He told me that he works at the warehouse most of the time and sometimes from home.”

“Yep. That’s pretty much it. Lucky tends to be a homebody.”

I play with my fork, wanting to talk more about Lucky and his life, but not wanting to seem like a busybody. It’s just that he’s such an interesting person, a genuine mystery, and I do looove me a puzzle. It’s why I’m so good at what I do, maybe. And why this job with the Bourbon Street Boys is really starting to excite me. I could be solving puzzles every day working with them.

“Have you met his goldfish Sunny?” I ask, trying to sound casual, which isn’t easy, considering I’m bringing up a goldfish as a conversation starter.

Dev shakes his head. “Nope. Lucky moved to a new place a while back, and I don’t know if anybody’s been there yet. Maybe Thibault has. Sunny moved in with him sometime after he changed apartments.”

“How come you haven’t been there? Doesn’t he like visitors?”

Dev looks off in the distance. “Lucky is . . . private, I guess you could say.”

I stare at the table, drawing imaginary lines on the surface with my fingertip. “He told me about his sister.” I glance up at Dev to gauge his reaction, and catch him looking very surprised.

“Really? That’s . . . unexpected.”

“Why? I mean, I know it’s really personal stuff, but it just kind of came up in conversation.” I don’t want Dev to think I pry deep secrets out of people the first day I work with them.

“He doesn’t talk about it with anybody. I mean, it happened, and of course we talked about it back then, but nobody talks about it now.”

“He said it’s because it makes people uncomfortable that he doesn’t talk about it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to.”